


Tidings of Satinalia Joy

by HereBeDragons



Series: Unshaken by the Darkness [9]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Major character death - Freeform, Suicide, holiday story, mild spoilers for unshaken by the darkness, please heed content warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereBeDragons/pseuds/HereBeDragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the tradition of “A Christmas Carol” and “It’s a Wonderful Life,” this is a "what if" story that gives a glimpse into an alternate future, if just one thing in Rhianna’s life had been different. It accompanies “Unshaken by the Darkness,” but should stand alone even for those who have not read that story.  </p><p>PLEASE heed the content warnings and tags. This story contains the deaths of several major characters. Bad things happen. Really, really bad things. This is by far the most difficult, painful thing I've ever written. But I hope that, ultimately, it will prove to be uplifting. It also contains very mild spoilers for Unshaken.</p><p>Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Amanda Kitswell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Satinalia Eve

**_9:30 Dragon  
The Deep Roads_ **

 

‹›‹O›‹›

Satinalia Eve.

Somewhere, far above where Rhianna Cousland now sat, there was a chill in the air and snow on the ground. In cities and villages across Ferelden, little troupes of carolers went from house to house, with flickering candles held in their hands, to sing songs about Andraste and beg for pennies and holiday grog. Gifts were being given, and kisses shared beneath the mistletoe. Puppies raced around the table in search of scraps, and smiles and laughter came easily to everyone's lips. Surely, even the Blight couldn't dampen the spirit of Satinalia throughout the land.

Down in the bowels of the earth, however, Rhianna and her companions had very nearly missed the holiday. It was difficult to keep track of time down here, but over dinner Oghren had happened to mention the date: the thirtieth of Harvestmere.

"Wait a minute," Alistair said. "Doesn't that mean tomorrow is Satinalia?"

"You're right," Leliana exclaimed. "Tomorrow is the anniversary of our beloved Prophet's birth!" She clapped her hands together. "We must do something to celebrate. Zevran, get your guitar, and I will sing songs. Wynne, have you any wine we could share? Surely, we can find a way to make this evening festive in honor of the holiday."

While the others began to organize this makeshift celebration, Rhianna searched through her pack. No doubt, she could find a gift for each of her companions. She already had a few specific things tucked away, and she'd been collecting trinkets to sell when they returned to Orzammar.

Within a few minutes, she'd found something for everyone, and rejoined the others around the campfire they'd built for the evening. Zevran retrieved a flask of rare Antivan brandy from his pack, pulled out the stopper, and sniffed the liquid inside.

"Ah. A hint of passion fruit, perfect for keeping the conversation flowing, as we like to say in Antiva." He took a long draught from the flask, and then passed it around the circle.

Leliana began to sing a holiday carol, her lovely voice echoing off the cavern walls as Zevran accompanied her on the guitar.

 _Silent night, Satina's night_    
 _'Cross the land, she shines bright_  
 _On this day when Andraste was named_  
 _Born to free those Tevinter enslaved_  
 _Maker smiled on her birth_  
 _Maker smiled on her birth_

_Silent night, Satina's night_   
_Her love shines, burning bright_   
_Radiance streamed from Her holy face_   
_Touching all with Andraste's grace_   
_Hail the Maker's bride_   
_Hail the Maker's bride_

_Silent night, Satina's night_   
_From Her lips, Chant of Light_   
_Raise your voice with abundant praise_   
_That all people in Thedas be saved_   
_Maker smile on us all_   
_Maker smile on us all_

When Leliana had finished, Rhianna cleared her throat. "In honor of the holiday, I have a little something for each of you."

"What's this?" Wynne asked, and the others all made similar sounds of surprise. "You can't just decide to give us all gifts, Rhianna! We don't have anything for you."

"That's all right," she replied. "Honestly. Just the fact that you are all here is the best gift you could possibly have given me. I wouldn't have blamed any of you for just . . . leaving. Going back to your homes, to your lives. But that you've all chosen to come with me? Especially, " she glanced around, "so far underground. Well, that's Satinalia enough for the next ten years, as far as I'm concerned."

So, she handed around the gifts. For Wynne, a book Rhianna had found in Orzammar: "The Search for the True Prophet." It was old and tattered, and appeared to have been rescued from a fire at some point, but it was a fascinating read, the parts Rhianna had flipped through anyway. It speculated that Andraste's powers had not come from the Maker, but that she had been a powerful mage.

Sten received a book as well. This one, Rhianna had purchased from a vendor on the surface near the gates of Orzammar. It was written in a strange, spidery script Rhianna was not able to read, but judging by the etchings, the author appeared to have great respect for the dead.

"This . . . this . . ." Sten took book into his hands and turned it over gently, as though it were fragile and he didn't want to damage it. "This is the book of 'Qunari Prayers for the Dead.' A book of funeral rites." He opened the tome, and read from it:

"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun."

"What does it mean?" Wynne asked.

"Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun."

"And this is a prayer for the dead?" Leliana asked.

"Yes," Sten confirmed. "This would be said at the burial ceremony." He turned to Rhianna, and looked directly into her eyes. "Thank you. This is beyond anything I could have ever expected,  _Kadan_. You honor us both greatly by giving me such a gift."

"You're welcome." Rhianna's cheeks grew warm from his praise. "I'm glad that you like it."

Leliana's gift was a pair of shoes. They were made of powder blue satin, with gold trim and ribbons around the ankles. Little gold charms shaped like puppies were attached to the ribbons, and Rhianna thought they were a bit silly, but Leliana loved them, as Rhianna had hoped she would, and immediately took off her boots to try them on.

For Daveth, a small silver vial, its metal stamped with a knotwork design. It hung on a pendant and contained an all-purpose antidote to poisons. For Oghren, a hammered gold flask. Dane received a new collar made of metal that had been infused with lyrium, and then braided and hammered flat.

"Those designs look Chasind," Morrigan said as Rhianna strapped the collar around Dane's neck. She caught the dog's eye. "Powerful, proud warriors. A very handsome collar for a warrior such as yourself."

Clearly happy with both the gift and the praise, Dane licked Rhianna's face, but only panted happily at Morrigan; he knew the witch would not appreciate being slobbered upon.

Next, was Zevran, but when she handed him a pair of leather gloves, he frowned softly.

"Zevran? Is something wrong?"

"I . . . no. Nothing is wrong. These are Dalish, are they not?" He ran his finger over the embroidery on the back of one of the gloves. "My mother was Dalish and had a pair very similar to these. The leather was less thick, and it had more embroidery . . . but these are very close. And quite handsome."

"So . . . you like them?"

"Yes,  _bella_ ," he murmured. "Yes, I like them. Very much."

"Good. I thought . . . well, you seem surprised."

"Do I? Perhaps I am. No one has simply . . . given me a gift before. I appreciate the fact that you even thought of me. Thank you."

Alistair's eyes lit up like those of a child when he saw the dragon Rhianna had for him, carved from black stone, and very nicely detailed.

"Oh, this is  _wonderful_!" He picked it up, and moved it back and forth so it looked like it was walking across the ground. Rhianna bit back a chuckle as she watched him. All he needed was a little knight on horseback, and he could have an epic battle with himself.

Finally, there was only one gift left to give: a mirror Rhianna had found in the marketplace in Orzammar. It was beautiful, its oval-shaped glass perfectly smooth and clear, and on the back a painted scene depicted golden deer and tiny sparrows frolicking in a tree-circled meadow. It reminded Rhianna of the Wilds, which is why she had chosen it for Morrigan.

Morrigan was completely silent as she turned it over again and again in her hands. She did not look at her own reflection, but seemed more interested in the mirror itself - its shape, the way its handle fit in her hand, the illustration on the back.

Finally, she looked up at Rhianna. "Is this truly for me?"

"Yes." But did Morrigan like the gift or not? Rhianna had difficulty reading the other woman's expression. Perhaps it had been a bad choice. After all, what was Morrigan going to do with a mirror, while they spent their days chasing after darkspawn?

"You could not know it," Morrigan began, "but I possessed something very similar, long ago." She looked at the mirror again. "I was quite young, and I happened upon a noblewoman standing beside her carriage. She was adorned in sparkling garments and jewels, and I was dazzled. She seemed to me to be what true wealth and beauty must be. So, I snuck up behind her and stole a hand mirror much like this one from the carriage. I hugged it to my chest with delight as I sped back to the Wilds." She gave a small sigh. "But Flemeth was enraged at my carelessness. I had risked discovery for the sake of a pretty bauble. To teach me a lesson, she destroyed it. Grabbed it right from my hands, and flung it against the wall, where it shattered into countless pieces. I was heartbroken."

"That seems a harsh lesson for a child," Leliana murmured.

"Perhaps, but it was a necessary one. Flemeth was right to break me of my fascination. Beauty and love are fleeting and have no meaning." Morrigan's voice was firm, but it seemed she was trying to convince herself, more than the people listening. "Without that lesson, I would not be here today. Still . . . it is remarkable that you found a mirror so similar to the one that was broken. I am . . . uncertain what to say. I suppose I should say thank you. 'Tis . . . most thoughtful, truly."

"You're welcome. I'm very glad that you like it."

"Oh yes." She held it up, and finally looked at her own face in the glass. "I like it very much."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

After the gifts were given, Leliana sang a few more songs, and Zevran's flask was passed around again, and there were jokes and stories. Rhianna smiled and laughed in all the right places, but somehow, she didn't feel the holiday inside of her as she always had in the past. The warmth of Andraste's love; the comfort of having the Maker's blessings. The pleasure of being surrounded by her family, none of whom were here this year, of course. Yes, she'd felt a rush of pleasure at how pleased her companions had been with their gifts, but all too soon the darkness and her awareness of the weight of stone above her head began press in on her again, and now all she felt was exhaustion, a bone-weary tiredness she simply couldn't shake.

She was relieved when the "party" wound down, and she could escape to her bedroll and hope for sleep.

As the others prepared themselves for bed, Morrigan pulled Rhianna aside.

"It . . . it upsets me that you gave a gift to each of us, but received none in return. You should have something. This day is special to you, after all, is it not? You are Andrastian."

"Yes, I suppose it is special, but that really doesn't matter. As I said, it's enough that you stayed with me all this time. I don't require any gift."

"I say you do. Here." Morrigan held out her hand; in her palm lay a silver locket, with intricate scrollwork etched into its surface. "My mother gave this to me, years ago. She always told me that one day I would find a use for it. Now, I have. I should like you to have it."

"That really isn't-"

"Take it," she insisted, and pressed the locket into Rhianna's hand. "It would . . . please me to do something kind for you." Morrigan's brow creased, as though she were unused to speaking such words. "Please. I would like you to have a gift, today of all days."

Rhianna turned the locket over in her hands. It was really quite pretty, and slightly warm to the touch. "Is it magical?"

"I believe it is, but I am afraid I cannot tell you in what way. I was never able to figure out how to use it. Perhaps you will have better luck than I."

"Thank you." Rhianna mustered a smile. "I mean that. Thank you, Morrigan. And happy Satinalia."

The witch nodded, and retreated to the far side of the camp.

Rhianna slid into her bedroll, the locket still held in her hand. She slipped the chain around her neck, and lay on her back.

She closed her eyes, but it seemed sleep intended to elude her on this night.

Satinalia.

It was on Satinalia she met Loghain for the very first time. When Thomas Howe pushed her down, and Loghain bandaged her arm. She reached down and ran her fingers across the small scar that could still be felt, just barely raised on the skin below her elbow.

They'd had so many years together, first as friends, and all too briefly, as something more. Days spent riding to the beach, or up into the mountains. Letters written while he was away at sea. Walks in the palace garden. And one night, one beautiful night spent in one another's arms in a room near the top of Fort Drakon. And now he hated her, wanted her dead, as if none of those years had happened.

How different would things have been if her father had never said no to Loghain's proposal? If Cailan, Maker damn him, hadn't gotten it in his head that he wanted to marry Rhianna? If Loghain had fought for her, or her mother had refused to agree to this horrible marriage her husband had arranged?

That was the event that changed everything. The moment when Rhianna's life began to fall apart. Surely, if Rhianna and Loghain had married, none of this would be happening. She wouldn't be underneath the ground, wanting to scream into he darkness that pressed in all around her, and the weight of the rock above her head. She wouldn't be a Grey Warden, with the taint burning in her veins. Her parents would still be alive; surely, Howe would never have dared attack the Couslands if Rhianna was Loghain's wife. And no matter what else had happened - the darkspawn, the Blight - Rhianna and Loghain would have faced it together.

His last letter to her had said he thought he would never be able to make her happy, but that wasn't true. They would have been happy together. She knew it. She  _knew_  it. She loved him, and he'd loved her, too. Once. She couldn't have been wrong about that.

If only they could have stayed together somehow, everything would be different, better. Her life wouldn't be this blur of pain and panic and darkspawn. She wouldn't dread the horrors that each new day might bring. She wouldn't wake every morning fighting back the terror of her dreams.

She turned onto her side, and tried to get comfortable. The locket was still in her hand, but strangely, it no longer felt warm. It was chilly now, almost ice cold.

Curious, Rhianna slid her thumbnail under the metal catch. With a soft "hiss," the locket popped open. She expected to see a portrait - isn't that what lockets usually contained? - but there was none. Instead, on the left side there was a mirror, and on the right . . . well, Rhianna wasn't sure what it was. There were colors that swirled and danced: purple and blue and gold and green.

She brought the locket closer to her face, to get a better look. She blinked once, and then again, and then her vision began to blur . . .

 

‹›‹O›‹›


	2. This is what I want

 

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna sat on the sofa in the sitting room of Highever House and tried not to fidget in spite of the excitement that fluttered in her chest. She had a book in her hands, and pretended to read, but really, her mind was racing. Loghain would be here soon. Any minute now, perhaps.

Nearby, her father sat at the table and sipped at his morning tea. Rhianna hadn't told him the reason for Loghain's visit, and he didn't seem to have guessed. If anything, he seemed subdued. Troubled, almost, even more so than he'd been over the past few weeks. She wished he would talk to her about what was bothering him, but so far he hadn't answered any of her questions other than to say, "It's fine, Pup. Nothing you need worry about."

Now, a small, secret smile played across her lips. She was still giddy from the evening she and Loghain had spent together at Fort Drakon. The most beautiful night of her entire life. When she closed her eyes, she could remember how perfect it had been to be in his arms, to kiss him, to have his fingers caress her skin. She could never have dreamed anything could feel so  _good_. Just the memory of it now was enough to make her yearn to be in his arms again.

Today, before the sun passed midway through the sky, Rhianna and Loghain would be betrothed, and soon - perhaps within the month - they would be married.

She nearly laughed out loud with joy, but managed to stop herself. Her father had already given her strange looks a time or two over breakfast, and she didn't want to have to answer any awkward questions. At any rate, he'd know soon enough the reason for her good cheer.

Hobbes appeared in the doorway. "Excuse me, Your Grace, but someone is here to see you."

Rhianna's heart beat faster.

Her father pushed himself up from his chair. "Teyrn Loghain, I assume?"

"Yes, ser."

"Please show him in."

Rhianna stood, and went to the door to greet him. When he crossed the threshold, she stepped close, but stopped herself before she touched him. She wanted so much to hug him, even just kiss him on the cheek, but didn't quite trust herself not to throw her arms around him and pull him close, and she couldn't do that. Not yet. There would be time for that later. All the time in the world.

She kept her hands at her sides, but couldn't hold back the smile that erupted across her face.

"Good morning, Loghain."

"Good morning, Rhianna." His voice was deep, and warm, and sent a delightful shiver through her body. "And good morning to you as well, Bryce."

"Loghain." Her father gestured toward the sofa. "Please have a seat." Then his eyes fell upon his daughter. "Rhianna, go upstairs. To your room."

"What?" She didn't want to leave. Of course, Father probably thought this was about Landsmeet business, or some other rubbish. But she wanted to be here, so she could assure him this was what she truly wanted.

"No," she replied. "I want to stay."

"Rhianna-"

"Please, Father? I know why Loghain is here." She glanced at Loghain, and he gave her a subtle nod. "I think perhaps this is a discussion we should all have together."

Her father hesitated, as though he meant to argue, but then he nodded and his shoulders drooped slightly. "Very well." To Loghain, "I know it's early, but can I offer you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you."

While Rhianna sat beside Loghain on the sofa, Bryce settled himself in a chair nearby. "So, what brings you here this morning? I take it there is something in particular you wish to speak with me about?"

Loghain raised a brow; Rhianna didn't blame him. It was less than polite for her father to have asked that question so abruptly, rather than exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes. But Loghain took it in stride. "Yes." He glanced at her, briefly. "It's about Rhianna." He paused. "I'm here to ask for her hand. In marriage."

Blessed Andraste. He'd said it. He'd actually said it. She'd dreamed of this moment so many times, for so many years, and now it was here, and he'd said it.

He'd asked for her hand.

She looked over at her father. Surely, this would make him very happy. Her future was settled, and there wasn't a better match for her anywhere in Ferelden. She couldn't read his expression, though. He stared at Loghain through narrowed eyes, glanced briefly at Rhianna, and then back to Loghain.

"I know she is not yet of age," Loghain continued, "and of course I would be happy to wait until she turns eighteen, if you and Eleanor would prefer. Although I am not averse to having the ceremony before her birthday, if that is agreeable to everyone."

Again, Bryce's eyes darted to Rhianna's face. "I . . . don't know."

Loghain blinked, and a crease formed across his brow. "I'm sorry? You don't know what? Whether or not you want to wait until after her birthday?"

Her father's brow creased, and fear fluttered in Rhianna's stomach.

"I don't see any reason to wait," she said.

Her father turned to her, a slight frown on his lips, and something that looked like surprise in his eyes.

"Father, this is what I want. To marry Loghain." She reached over and took Loghain's hand in her own. "This is what I've wanted for a very long time."

The furrowed deepened in his brow, and Rhianna's smile faltered as her breath caught in her throat. Was it possible he might refuse? No, that was silly. Why in the world would he refuse?

"I . . ." He turned back to Loghain and cleared his throat. "I really should speak to Eleanor, before making any firm arrangement."

"You don't need to speak to Mother," Rhianna said. "You know what she'll say." She glanced at Loghain. "She adores Loghain. As do I." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering on his skin for the space of a heartbeat.

Loghain squeezed her hand, gently, and turned to Bryce. "I realize I have no claim on your daughter. I chose not to speak with you about this sooner, years ago, because I was determined I would only marry her if I knew it was what she wanted. And that was something I couldn't discover until she was grown. But I am convinced this is what she wants, and it is what I want as well." He paused. "I love your daughter, Bryce. And I will do everything in my power to make her happy, I swear it."

Rhianna's breath caught in her throat.

He loved her.

She'd known it all along, of course, but to hear him say it, to hear the words pass his lips, was . . . wonderful.

She turned to her father. He looked tired, his eyes hooded and dark, and his brow deeply creased. But then he glanced at her, and something in his face softened, and the tension left his shoulders, and he leaned back in his chair.

"All right. If this is what you want, Rhianna, then yes. You have my permission to wed."

Happy laughter burst from Rhianna's throat, and she threw her arms around Loghain and hugged him tightly. Then she leapt up off the sofa, and caught her father in an embrace.

"Thank you," she murmured into his ear. "Thank you so much. You've made me so happy." When she pulled away, she looked at Loghain, and then back to her father. "Shall I write to Mother? Tell her the good news, and ask her to bring everyone here to Denerim as soon as possible?" She bit her lip. "I mean, I assume we'll be married here, in the Cathedral?" She glanced at Loghain.

"If that's what you want," he replied, "it's fine with me."

"Good. And can we go to the Chantry today? And have the announcement of our betrothal read off right away?"

Her father frowned. "Is there some hurry?"

"No," she laughed. "Of course not." She sat beside Loghain again, and linked her arm around his. "I just don't want to wait any longer than necessary." Again, she kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm more than happy to take you to the Chantry today," Loghain chuckled, "but there are probably a few things the three of us need to discuss first."

Rhianna got to her feet again. "Then I'll go and ask Cook to bring tea and cakes, and we'll sit down together and work out all the details."

 

‹›‹O›‹›


	3. Too empty, too quiet

 

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna loved Gwaren.

From the first moment she and Loghain rode into town, and she saw the townspeople lining the streets to greet their teyrn and new teyrna, she loved Gwaren. She loved these people with their ruddy cheeks and ready smiles and round vowels. She loved the way they took Rhianna's hands between their own as though welcoming her into the family. She loved the town, with its sturdy wooden buildings, built to withstand the icy cold winters. She loved the dramatic cliffs that loomed above a steel blue sea, the air alive with the sharp, high-pitched cries of seabirds. She loved the ancient castle that stood right at the edge of the water, with its huge portcullis, and a tunnel underneath that led to a secret cavern where a boat was hidden away. She loved the bustling courtyard, and the curtain wall of red sandstone, with its stairwells and arches.

But what she loved most about Gwaren was being there with Loghain. They spent most of their days working together to care for the teyrnir: they held court, walked out into the town, met with merchants and craftspeople, made sure enough food was being stored to get everyone through the winter. They walked arm in arm along the cliffs and beaches, or rode out into the woods with Dane. In the evenings, they played games, or read aloud to one another, and nights were spent together in the enormous four-poster bed in the master chamber of the castle, in front of a huge window that overlooked the sea. They laughed, and talked, and made love, and fell asleep tangled up in one another's arms.

Life in Gwaren was perfect. It truly was everything Rhianna had ever hoped and dreamed it would be.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

Late in Drakonis, word reached Gwaren that the darkspawn had surged out of the Korcari Wilds and destroyed an entire village in the Southron Hills. They killed nearly everyone and tainted the land so thoroughly that no one would be able to live there for years to come. Rhianna had never forgotten the darkspawn she and Loghain had seen that afternoon in the Bannorn, nor had she forgotten the Warden Commander's grim words of warning, but she hadn't been prepared for news like this.

Nor was it an isolated incident, but merely the first of many sightings, as darkspawn began to spread north in ever increasing numbers. None had yet been seen near Gwaren, but unless they were stopped it would only be a matter of time.

A messenger arrived from Denerim, with a letter from Cailan. It was a request for Loghain to come to the capital and prepare to take the royal armies south to meet the darkspawn, and push them out of Ferelden forever.

"I'm coming with you," Rhianna said, after learning the contents of the letter.

"No, love. You should stay here. There's no point in you coming to Denerim only to stay behind when I march off to war."

"What makes you think I intend to stay behind? I'm going to come with you, to fight at your side. Why in the world wouldn't I?" When he arched a brow as though he meant to argue, she continued, "Besides, it's not your decision to make." She leaned up and kissed him, briefly, on the lips. "I'm all grown up now, remember? I'm coming with you, and we'll defeat the darkspawn together."

He pulled her close, and she wrapped herself around him, relaxing into his familiar warmth.

"All right," he chuckled, and his breath tickled her ear. "We'll do this together. To be honest, I didn't want to leave here without you." He grasped her chin, and turned her face to look up into his. "I never want to be far from you. Never."

Then, he kissed her, and carried her up the stairs, and for a while all thoughts of darkspawn and war were far, far away.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

But when Loghain and Cailan marched south with the armies a month later, Rhianna was not with them.

She'd had trouble keeping food down during the weeklong journey to Denerim. It was true that she'd always had a weak stomach - being ill was often her first response to any type of stress - but Loghain was worried, and as soon as they arrived in Denerim, insisted she see the court healer.

Jocelyn examined Rhianna, and had been pleased to inform her that she wasn't ill. Quite the opposite in fact: Rhianna was with child. This news was somewhat bittersweet, coming when it did. Rhianna was elated and excited and just a bit terrified at the prospect of becoming a mother. Loghain said all the right things, although he fussed over her in a way that seemed excessive, and there was something that looked like panic in his eyes. And of course, this meant Rhianna could not possibly accompany Loghain to Ostagar.

On the morning the army had marched south, Rhianna stood beside Anora, just outside the city gates, as they said their goodbyes to their husbands. When Loghain leaned down for a final kiss, Rhianna struggled against her tears.

"Promise me you'll come home soon," she breathed into his ear. "Promise."

"I'll be back before you know it." He ran a hand across her gently swollen belly. "Do you think I would miss being there when our child comes into the world?"

When they kissed, she tasted the salt of her tears on her tongue, and she clung to him, reluctant to let him go. But finally, it could be delayed no longer, and she gave him the brightest smile she could muster.

He ran the tips of his fingers down her cheek, and along her jaw. "I love you, Rhia."

"And I love you," she replied. "Be safe. Please."

When Loghain turned away, she reached out and took Anora's hand. The two women held tightly to one another and watched as the men they loved marched away.

Two days later, Rhianna boarded a ship bound for Highever, so she could be with her mother when the baby arrived.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

A few days after Rhianna's birthday, Rendon Howe arrived in Highever with his Amaranthine troops.

Loghain had written to her regularly from Ostagar - weekly, at least, as often as Gwyn could carry the letters back and forth. The news was tentatively good. They'd faced the darkspawn several times, and each time been able to push them back. But more troops were needed, if they were to have any hope of defeating the horde once and for all. So her father and brother, along with Howe, had been called south to join forces with the king.

The night before they were meant to leave, Rhianna awoke to find Dane barking softly at the door to her bedchamber. She heaved herself up out of the bed and swung open the door. In the hallway, her father stood in his nightclothes and slippers, a candle in his hand.

"Father? What are you doing? Is something wrong?"

"I . . . no. Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to talk." He shook his head. "You were asleep, weren't you?"

"That's all right." She gestured for him to come into her room. "I'm awake now. What is it you wanted to talk about?"

"Nothing in particular. Can't a father come visit his daughter just . . . because?"

"Of course," she chuckled, but she sensed there was something more on his mind. "Come, let's sit at the table."

He looked at her, through slightly narrowed eyes. "You're looking well, Pup. I must say I am happy to think that upon my return, a new grandchild will await me."

"Yes." She ran a hand absently across her belly. "If he's a boy, I intend for his middle name to be Bryce."

"Do you?" He lifted a brow, but there was nothing but warmth in the smile that crossed his face. Then, that smile faltered. "I'm glad you're here. In Highever. I know you'll have your hands full as soon as the baby comes, but in the meantime, your mother will be grateful for your help. And I . . . well, I want you to prepare the men who stay here." He paused. "Just in case."

"In case of what?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"You've seen for yourself what the darkspawn are capable of, and legends of the blights tell of horrible things. If our armies can't hold them at Ostagar, you must be prepared for the worst."

"Perhaps you should leave behind a larger force? To defend the castle, if needed."

"No. The troops are needed in the south. Whatever threats I've devised in my mind are imaginary for the time being; the darkspawn in the south are real. Besides, when the king demands it,  _not_  sending the whole of our forces south would be a distinctly bad idea." Something in his tone caught her attention.

"Surely, Cailan would understand that Highever needs to be defended?"

His brow creased, and he looked exhausted. "Yes, perhaps he would. But . . . well, let us not speak of ominous things. Instead, we shall assume that all will go well and trust that the Maker will watch over us." He reached over and took one of her hands. "Are you happy, Pup? Being the teryna of Gwaren? Being married to Loghain?"

"Am I happy?" She wrinkled her nose. "Of course I am, with those things. It is a bit difficult right now. I'll admit, I'm scared about what's happening in the south, and I wish my husband was here, with the baby on the way. But I love Gwaren. And I love Loghain, more than my own life."

He nodded, slowly. "Good. I am glad to hear it." He paused. "You could have been queen, you know."

"Queen? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, as if to clear it. "Don't mind me. An old man nattering on about things that don't matter." He stood. "And you should get back to sleep. Maker knows, you need your rest."

"All right." He gave her a hand as she pushed herself up out of the chair, and then he hugged her, tightly.

When he pulled away, he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. "You're my darling daughter, Rhianna. And I love you. Never forget that."

"How could I ever forget? And I love you, too, Father." She kissed his cheek. "So very much."

When she closed the door behind him, tears welled up in her eyes, although she wasn't entirely sure why.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

The next morning, once again Rhianna stood and watched as people she loved turned from her and marched away to war. This time, her mother and Oriana were at her side. Her mother held one of Rhianna's hands, and Rhianna ran her free hand over the ever-growing swell of her belly. There was no question now that she was with child; she was the size of a watermelon, and vaguely uncomfortable almost all the time, although Geoffrey assured her that both mother and child were doing just fine.

The commander of the Grey Wardens, Duncan, had accompanied the armies, with Ser Gilmore in tow. Duncan had arrived the day before Rendon Howe, and while he hadn't said anything about it, the way he'd looked at Rhianna – the slight frown as his gaze had lingered on the ring on her finger, and on her swollen midsection - she had the feeling he'd come here intending to recruit her into the Grey Wardens.

Thankfully, that had been averted. Would being Loghain's wife have been enough to save her, she wondered, or was it the fact he couldn't possibly conscript a pregnant woman that, ultimately, had stopped him?

At any rate, he recruited Ser Gilmore, who had been pleased to go. The young knight had gone on at length about what an honor it was, and how excited he was to be able to do something tangible to defend Ferelden, which he now considered his home. Rhianna had kissed him on the cheek when she heard the news, and his face had turned nearly as red as his hair. Hopefully life with the Grey Wardens would give him happiness, or satisfaction at least.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

After Fergus and Bryce left for the south, it was as though the life had gone out of the castle. The halls seemed too empty, too quiet, and the shadows were darker than ever before. The only spark of life was Oren's cheerful chatter, as he and Dane went on adventures together in the hallways and gardens. Rhianna tried to amuse herself by making things for the baby and visiting with people she knew in Highever town, and during the days she was able to pretend everything was all right.

But in the dark of night, she couldn't push back her fears. The castle seemed bleak and lonely, and a creeping dread had taken up residence inside of her - a feeling of certainty that something awful was going to happen. Her mother tried to comfort her, and soothe away her fears - "it's natural to be worried when you're expecting your first child" - but nothing anyone said could stop Rhianna from being desperately afraid.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

A month later, Gwyn failed to arrive as expected with a letter from Loghain.

 

‹›‹O›‹›


	4. Too many darkspawn

 

‹›‹O›‹›

On the eighteenth day of August, a man rode into Highever, slumped in his saddle as though he could barely sit his horse.

As he pulled his mount to a halt in the courtyard, Rhianna and Oriana rushed out to see the cause of the commotion. The man wore a patch over one eye, and was filthy, his beard grown long over a badly healed scar that wandered across his cheek.

Oriana recognized him first.

"Fergus!" She caught him as he slid off the back of his lathered, exhausted horse.

"I rode here as . . . as quickly as I could." He clung to her arm as beads of sweat pooled on his forehead, and slipped down his cheek.

A weight settled in Rhianna's stomach, and cold fear trickled down her spine.

With Oriana to support him on one side, and Rhianna on the other, they helped him into the great hall. As they settled him down onto a bench near the fire, Rhianna motioned to one of the guards.

"Find Geoffrey, and let my mother know that Fergus has returned."

With a cross-armed salute, the guard ran off, but Rhianna's second request proved unnecessary. As the guard left the great hall, Eleanor hurried in, and flew to her son's side.

"Fergus?" Her voice was high-pitched, and trembled. "Oh, blessed Andraste, what happened? You're injured!"

"I'm all right," he insisted. "It's nothing serious." The patch over his eye, and his inability to put weight on one of his legs put the lie to that remark, but no one contradicted him.

"The battle was lost," he continued. "Cailan decided that he wanted to make a single, all-out assault to destroy the darkspawn once and for all. So, on the day after Funalis, the armies faced the horde. Cailan fought alongside the Grey Wardens, and Loghain led the flanking charge. But . . ." He ran a grimy hand through his hair. "There were far too many darkspawn. The king's armies are . . . gone. Completely destroyed. I only managed to make it out alive because I was scouting in the Korcari Wilds, and didn't fight in the battle itself. But I saw the . . . aftermath, and managed to escape being captured or killed by the horde." He paused. "King Cailan is dead."

"The king is dead?" Eleanor sat on one of the benches, and clutched her hands together in her lap. Rhianna lowered herself down beside her mother.

Something about Fergus' expression - the set of his jaw, the way his eyelid sagged - told her this wasn't yet the worst news he had to deliver. Rhianna trembled, as her breath began to come faster.

"What about Father?" she asked.

Fergus' shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry." He shook his head, and Rhianna's stomach lurched. "I'm so sorry, but he didn't make it. He fought at Cailan's side, and there . . . there were just too many darkspawn."

"No!" Eleanor cried out, and Rhianna's vision clouded as she struggled to take a breath. She put her arms around her mother's thin frame, which shook with silent sobs. Inside of her, the baby kicked once, violently.

Her father was dead. Her father was  _dead_. It didn't seem possible. Everyone had been so confident, so certain the darkspawn would be easily defeated with the combined might of Ferelden's armies. She sobbed softly as a tear slipped down her cheek, and then another, and another.

"Elsie."

She looked up at her brother. His face swam in front of her, her vision blurred by her tears. But she could see that his bottom lip trembled, and there was sorrow in his gaze, and something that could only be described as pity.

"No." She shook her head, as tears flowed more freely. "No, Fussy. Don't say it. Please, don't say it."

Because she knew.

As soon as her brother had ridden into the courtyard, looking only half alive, she knew.

When Gwyn had never returned with a letter, Rhianna knew.

When he'd kissed her, and told her he loved her, that very last time in Denerim, somehow, she  _knew._

But as long as no one  _said_  it, as long as the words were never spoken, perhaps she could go on believing that it wasn't true. Instead, she could believe that her husband would ride into Highever any minute now. That he'd traveled north with Fergus, but his horse had thrown a shoe an hour away from the castle. That if Rhianna weren't so heavily pregnant, she could have ridden out to meet him. That he might be making his way through the castle gates even now.

As long as no one told her otherwise, she could go on believing.

"I'm sorry, Pet." Fergus' good eye was red-rimmed and bloodshot. "His troops were apart from the rest of the king's forces, and he was meant to flank the darkspawn once they'd all taken the field. But, apparently, the beacon that signaled him to charge was lit too early, and he attacked the side of their column, rather than the flank. Almost every single soldier on the field lost their life. There were just too many darkspawn. But Loghain died a hero, you need never doubt that."

The world began to spin as a pain constricted around her heart, sharper and brighter than any she'd ever felt before. Something built up inside of her, like a scream, but she was afraid to let it out for fear she would never be able to stop. Frantic, she pushed herself up off of the bench, but when she tried to stand, she fell to her knees. She landed on the palms of her hands and something snapped in her wrist, but when she cried out in pain, it was not her wrist that hurt, but an agonizing flash of pain in her belly, as though a knife had been stabbed into her gut.

She slumped sideways, onto her hip, her gown damp from a pool of water that had materialized beneath her. Another pain ripped through her belly, and this time she could no longer hold it in. She screamed, not from sorrow but from a physical pain worse than any she had felt ever before in her life.

"Help . . . me!" She panted for breath. "Oh, please, Andraste! Please . . . help me . . ."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

Gareth Mac Tir was born on the twentieth day of August, 9:30 Dragon. Even though his arrival had happened somewhat ahead of schedule, he was in perfect health, and Rhianna's body recovered quickly from her confinement.

He was a beautiful baby, with a scattering of dark hair on his head, and piercing blue eyes, although Geoffrey warned her that they might turn darker later in his life. His arms and legs were plump, and his skin had good, healthy color. In every way, Gareth was perfect, and he was the light of Rhianna's life.

She loved him more than she would have thought it possible to love another person.

And it hurt more than she would have thought possible to know that Loghain would never see him. Would never hold this tiny, precious,  _perfect_ child in his arms.

She tried not to think about Loghain. It hurt too much. Of course, not thinking about him was impossible. Every time she looked at her son, she could see the resemblance, and was reminded that not only would Gareth never know his father, but that Rhianna would have to live the rest of her life without him, as well. Some days, that thought hurt so much she could barely get out of bed in the morning, barely force herself to take one breath after the next.

But she did get up each day, and ate the food her mother offered, and took care of herself as best she could, for Gareth's sake. Her son needed her, so she was strong for him when she didn't know how to be strong for herself, and she gave him twice as many kisses to make up for the fact that he would have to grow up without his father.

She would love him enough for the both of them.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

When Gareth was two months old, and deemed by Geoffrey to be strong enough to travel, Rhianna announced her intention to return to Gwaren. Her mother tried to convince her to stay in Highever, through the winter at least. She argued that Rhianna needed her family around her, and that Gareth would be happier surrounded by people who loved him. But Rhianna insisted. Gwaren was her home now, and she had a duty to its people. She was their teyrna, and they counted on her to care for them. One day, her son would be their teyrn. Fergus was here to defend Highever, but Gwaren had no one, so she would return there, and do what she could to keep them safe from the Blight.

What she didn't admit aloud was that she felt somehow compelled to return there for another reason as well. Compelled to return to the place where she and Loghain had found so much happiness, even if it had lasted only a short time. Perhaps there would still be something of him there. His scent on the bedclothes, or on shirts that hung in the oaken wardrobe. A glass that had touched his lips, and been overlooked by the servants. A print from one of his boots, where he had stood in the loose dirt of the courtyard while he oversaw the Gwaren Regulars at sparring practice. If she didn't sail now, before the winter storms, she wouldn't be able to do so until the spring, and by then any lingering trace of him might be gone forever.

So Rhianna, her son bundled warmly in her arms, boarded a ship headed south, determined to make the best of what life had given her. She would hold close to her son, and to the happy memories of her husband, to the very best of her ability.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

The Blight continued to rage, and slowly but steadily, the darkspawn pushed farther north. Thus far, Gwaren had been spared, but Rhianna feared it would only be a matter of time. The winter proved to be a blessing; it seemed the darkspawn avoided the worst of the cold weather. And cold weather was something Gwaren had in abundance.

Of course, Gwaren also held memories, of those few months Rhianna and Loghain had spent here together. Perhaps it had been a mistake to return, after all. Everywhere she went, in the castle and the town, there was something to remind her of him. She'd thought that was what she wanted, but now that she was here, she was miserable, thinking about him constantly while knowing he was gone forever. Even though the townspeople and those who worked in the castle were kind and solicitous, Rhianna couldn't help but feel even lonelier here than she'd ever felt before.

Sometimes, when Gareth nursed or slept, Rhianna sat and spun her wedding ring around and around on her finger. It was the ring she'd found that day at the waterfall so many years ago, shaped like a dragon with a dark red garnet clutched in its claws. Loghain had kept it all that time, and worn it on his own finger up until the day he'd slipped it onto hers. Wearing it now helped her feel connected to him in a way nothing else did, but it brought scant comfort, and no joy at all. She missed him so much, and her heart felt heavy, as though something inside of her had died along with him.

Between her duties to the teyrnir, and taking care of Gareth, Rhianna managed to keep up her correspondence. She had regular letters from her mother, and Oriana, and occasionally from Fergus. Anora, too, wrote often. The queen spoke of political things mostly, rather than personal loss, but from time to time the older woman would share a story about her father, and Rhianna both cherished and hated those letters, for all the things they made her feel.

It was in these letters, too, that Rhianna learned that the queen had written to Empress Celene, and asked for help fighting the darkspawn. It wasn't as though she had much of a choice. Nevarra and the Free Marches had not sent any help, nor had Grey Wardens come from any other part of Thedas, no matter how many letters Anora sent to Weisshaupt asking for support. And with the army lost at Ostagar, there simply wasn't anyone here in Ferelden to fight.

Thankfully, Celene responded quickly, and the Orlesians came through Gherlen's Pass just as the last of the winter snows had melted. Two hundred Grey Wardens, and four legions of chevaliers crossed the border, and they fought valiantly and well. If they left in their wake nearly as much destruction as the darkspawn had - homes looted, women ravished, horses and dogs and crops stolen - at least they hadn't tainted the land as the darkspawn would have.

As spring turned to summer, and flowers bloomed and fruit began to ripen on the trees, the archdemon attacked the city of Denerim, and was killed at the top of Fort Drakon.

The Blight was over.

For the first time in more than a year, as people salvaged what they could from the chaos and destruction the past year had wrought, it seemed that perhaps Ferelden would survive after all.

 

‹›‹O›‹›


	5. Almost no resistance

 

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna awoke to Dane's barking, and a pounding on her door in the middle of the night. After checking to see that Gareth was tucked into his cot, she ran to the door, grabbing her sword as she went. Her lady-in-waiting stood in the hallway, dressed only in her nightgown, eyes wide with fear.

"H-hurry milady," she stuttered. "You've got to hurry! They've come for you. You and the little master. You've got to get away!"

"They've come? Who's come?"

"Chevaliers, milady. They sailed into the harbor, and are nearly to the castle gates!"

Rhianna strapped on her armor for the first time in months, and grabbed clothes and blankets for Gareth. With Dane leading the way, they hurried downstairs. If she could just make it to the tunnel beneath the west tower, they could take the boat that was stored there, and get away before anyone was the wiser.

When they entered the main courtyard, though, Rhianna's stomach lurched. They were too late. Two dozen chevaliers, swords drawn, had already come through the main gate.

" _La voilà!_ " someone shouted, and half a dozen of them ran at Rhianna.

Maker's  _balls_! She would never make it across to the other tower, and even if she could, if the chevaliers knew she'd escaped in a small boat, they would have an easy enough time of catching up with her later. Better to surrender, and do whatever they wanted, if only they would spare Gareth's life.

She threw her sword in the dirt, and raised one hand in a gesture of submission.

_"Je vous en prie! Je ferais tout ce que vous voulez, mais ne faites pas de mal à mon enfant!"_

"No one will harm you or the child," one of the men barked in Orlesian. "You are to be taken to Denerim. Get what you need for the journey; we will depart on the next tide."

One of the chevaliers stepped forward, reaching out as though he meant to take Gareth from Rhianna's arms.

"No, please!" she shouted, and twisted her body away. Then, a blur of motion as Dane hurled himself, snarling, at the man who had reached for the baby. Dane's teeth sank into the man's forearm, and he cried out in pain. Before Rhianna could shout at the hound to stop, another man stepped forward. He put his sword through Dane's side and slashed down, disemboweling Dane in a single stroke.

Rhianna screamed, "No! Maker, no!"

With a whimper, Dane fell to the ground. Clumsily, clutching Gareth in one arm, Rhianna dropped to her knees at her hound's side, and took Dane's head in her hand.

He looked up at her, pain and sorrow in his watery eyes. She didn't even need to hear his thoughts to know their content.

_I failed you. I wasn't strong enough to protect you and your pup._

_No, Dane, no. You didn't fail us. We'll be fine, I promise."_ Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.  _Please, don't go. Don't go. My best, most beloved friend. I don't know what I will do without you._

But his head lolled in her hand, and the familiar presence of him in her mind – a presence that had been with her almost constantly for so many years - was just . . . gone.

She pressed Gareth's face to her body and sobbed, her tears falling heavily on Dane's thick fur. Then a hand gripped her shoulder, and pulled her, not ungently, to her feet.

Instinctively, she pulled Gareth tight against her chest, terror and grief coursing through her. "Don't you touch my baby," she hissed in Orlesian. "Don't you dare touch my baby!"

"No one is going to touch your child," one of the men replied. "Just go pack your things. Now."

 

‹›‹O›‹›

Once again, Ferelden had been well and truly occupied.

It had happened quickly - practically overnight - with almost no resistance. How could they have resisted? Most everyone capable of fighting had died at Ostagar, or been killed fighting darkspawn in their own backyards. The chevaliers who had battled the Blight never left, and when the Orlesian ships landed in every port city, bringing still more soldiers, Ferelden fell like a sapling beneath the weight of a bear.

Amaranthine and Highever were the first to fall, along with Waking Sea. The fortress of West Hill might have withstood a siege, had there been anyone there to defend it. Gwaren and Penfro also fell easily, and within days, Orlesian forces swept through the Bannorn as well.

In other places, there was nothing for the chevaliers to take, for the towns had already been lost to the darkspawn during the Blight. West Hills and Lothering. The Southron Hills. Vintiver and Winter's Breath.

The last city to fall was Rainesfere. Teagan Guerrin, even though he was closest to Gherlen's Pass, managed to hold out for nearly a week. But in the end, his city walls and soldiers could not push back an endless number of chevaliers and Rainesfere, too, was lost.

Nobles who resisted were killed; those who surrendered, as Rhianna had, were brought to Denerim to throw themselves on whatever mercy Empress Celene might have to spare.

Surprisingly, the empress herself had come to Denerim. Or perhaps it wasn't surprising at all. No doubt, she wished to enjoy her victory first hand. See the faces of the nobles she had felled so easily, with just a single, quick stroke in the wake of the destruction left behind by the darkspawn.

When their ship arrived in Denerim, Rhianna and Gareth were thrown into a cell in Fort Drakon. The only mercy was that she had been locked up next to her brother, who had been captured in Highever. Queen Anora, too, was imprisoned in the tower, along with the rest of the nobles who had survived.

"Thank the Maker you're alive." Fergus whispered, as though fearful that if the guards realized they had put brother and sister so close together, even that small comfort would be taken from them.

"Yes," she murmured, although in truth she wasn't prepared to give thanks. It was far too soon for that. She didn't care much for her own life, but Gareth . . . all she cared about was seeing him safely through this waking nightmare. "What of the others? Mother, and Oren and Oriana?"

"We had just enough warning for Oriana and Oren to escape by boat, before the chevaliers arrived. She intended to go to her family in Antiva. I have no way of knowing whether or not they made it across the Waking Sea, but I can only pray they did, and are far beyond the empress' reach."

"Did mother not go with them?"

Fergus shook his head, his one remaining eye filled with sorrow. "No. She refused to go. She insisted on staying behind to fight and give them time to escape." He paused. "She was killed when chevaliers stormed the castle."

Rhianna closed her eyes. Gareth began to fuss, making soft hiccuping noises, and Rhianna bounced him gently, and placed kiss after kiss on his smooth, pale forehead. She had no words, no way to respond to what Fergus had said.

Their mother was dead, and everything had fallen apart. In truth, the full depth of this tragedy was almost impossible for Rhianna to comprehend.

First Father and Loghain, then Dane, and now Mother. Oriana and Oren were gone, and Ferelden had been half destroyed by the darkspawn. Now, the thing Loghain had always feared above all others had happened: Ferelden had fallen, perhaps irrevocably, to Orlais.

It seemed there was no way things could possibly get worse.

Except the spreading sensation of dread that began at the base of her spine and crept steadily upwards reminded Rhianna, yes, there was still more she could lose. There were still people she loved who could be taken from her.

 

‹›‹O›‹›


	6. If you do as I ask

 

‹›‹O›‹›

On a sunny day, under a cloudless, bright blue sky, the nobles of Ferelden were marched out into the courtyard in front of Fort Drakon. They were guided into a single line; there were only eleven of them, after all. Twelve, counting Gareth. A platform had been erected along one wall, upon which Empress Celene sat, her face shielded from the sun by servants who held a canopy over her head. Around the perimeter of the courtyard, a crowd had gathered, a combination of Orlesian nobles and chevaliers with smug smiles on their face, and Fereldan citizens whose expressions held barely disguised panic. No doubt the latter had been ordered to witness this spectacle, so they could go home and spread the news of just how quickly, efficiently, and completely Ferelden had fallen to the empress' might.

At the center of it all, the headsman waited with a short, two-handed sword held loosely in his hands.

Anora was the first to die. She went to her death the way she had approached everything in life: with grace and poise. Even as she got down on her knees to await the headsman's blow, her expression remained calm and stoic.

The man had skill; he severed her head cleanly, with a single, swift blow.

Teagan Guerrin was next. And then Nicola Baranti, Bann Franderel, and Leonas Bryland. As he was brought past, Leonas stopped to kiss Rhianna on the cheek, and Gareth on his forehead. Rhianna's vision blurred as he dropped down to his knees. She closed her eyes to squeeze back tears rather than watch her beloved uncle die. Next went Devon Trumhall, Vaughan Kendells, and Sighard Davies.

When Tanith Curwen was urged forward, she called out to the empress. "Please, Your Radiance. Please. I beg of you to show mercy."

The guard began to drag Tanith by the arm, but a wave of Celene's hand stopped him.

"Mercy? Oh, my darling girl, I should never wish for anyone to think the Empress of Orlais lacks mercy."

Tanith stood just a bit straighter, as though she had found cause for hope in Celene's words.

But that hope fled when the empress continued, "Why else do you think I brought my headsman, and bade him use his sword? Or would you rather be hanged? Trust me, I have seen both. Dying by the sword is, indeed, the most merciful death I can imagine."

She nodded to the guard, and Tanith was brought to the center of the courtyard, and pushed down onto her knees. Tears streamed down the girl's face, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the sword swept down to take her head.

It did appear that the dead were to be treated with respect; proper pyres had been built - ten of them - that lined the far end of the courtyard. And the heads were kept with the bodies, rather than set upon pikes outside the palace. That, too, was a mercy.

Now, a guard came for Fergus, and Fergus reached for one of Rhianna's hands, squeezing it firmly.

"I love you, Elsie," he murmured, "And I'll see you at the Maker's side. I'll be there, waiting for you. I promise."

A sob caught in her throat, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into tears. The sharp, metallic taste of blood exploded onto her tongue as she watched her brother kneel on the bloodstained ground. He gave her a final glance, and a smile, before closing his eyes.

Rhianna wanted to cry out, to beg them to stop. To throw herself on Celene's mercy - swear to do anything, anything at all, if only her brother would be spared. But she was too afraid to speak, too afraid to make any sound at all, afraid they would come for Gareth next.

This was stupid.

Of course they were coming for Gareth next; there was no one but Rhianna and Gareth left alive.

Even so, she didn't cry out, she didn't speak. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut, not being able to bear the sight of what was to happen. She pressed Gareth to her bosom, so his eyes would be shielded as well, and put a hand over his ears. But Rhianna herself heard clearly the sword swish through the air, and the hollow thud that followed.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, tears she could no longer hold in check, and her body trembled.

_Please, Andraste. Please let it be over soon. And please let her spare my son. Please. Please don't let her harm my Gareth. Please._

When the guard came for her, he did not lead her to the headsman. Instead, she was brought directly before Empress Celene.

"Lady Cousland." The empress addressed Rhianna in Orlesian, and her voice was high and merry. "Oh, forgive me. You are Teyrna Mac Tir now, are you not?"

"Yes, Your Radiance," Rhianna replied without thinking.

"Please. I wish for you to stop crying. Your eyes will be all puffy and red, and you have such beautiful eyes."

Rhianna sniffed, and swallowed once, forcing her breath to come slowly.

"That is much better," Celene purred. "I know this may be hard for you to believe my dear, but I wish you no harm. Nor do I wish anything but the best for your beautiful son. I know what you have just witnessed must be troubling for you, but you must trust me when I say it was necessary. It is my sincere hope, however, that we have seen an end to violence this day."

Rhianna glanced at the pyres; each of them now had a body upon it, without an empty one remaining. Perhaps the empress truly did not mean to kill her and Gareth.

"What is it that you want from me?"

"What do I want?" She arched a perfectly manicured brow. "What I want more than anything is for us to be friends."

"Friends?" Rhianna's brow creased. Was the woman mad? Rhianna had just watched her brother die at this woman's command. How could she possibly think they could be 'friends?'

"Of course," the empress laughed. "I have no doubt that you and I will become the best of friends, Lady Cousland. All I require of you is a small favor."

A new flutter of fear erupted in her chest.

"A favor, Your Radiance? What sort of a favor?"

"As I said, just a small one. In fact, I have no doubt that in a very few months, you will thank me for it." She smiled widely. "I understand that you were recently widowed, when your husband - the famed Hero of the River Dane - was killed at Ostagar."

"Yes, Your Radiance. That is true."

"And here you are, all alone in the world with your young son. So vulnerable." She tilted her head to the side and bit her bottom lip, as though she were truly concerned for Rhianna. "It seems to me that a woman in your position is in need of a safe place in this world. Fortunately for you, it so happens that I am in need of someone with your skills. A gracious noblewoman, who loves the people of Ferelden and is loved by them. Who understands politics, and has the intelligence to learn to play the Grand Game. To be someone Fereldans can look up to, and reassure themselves that what has happened here - surprising as it may have been - will truly benefit them, once they embrace the few necessary changes."

What in the world was she talking about?

Celene gestured to a man who stood nearby; he stepped forward and inclined his head respectfully in Rhianna's direction. "This is my cousin, Gauvain Presd'eaux. Gauvain is going to be the king of Ferelden, since I cannot possibly remain here and rule your lovely homeland myself. And you are going to marry him, and rule at his side."

"What?" Rhianna's brow wrinkled in confusion. Gareth began to fuss, and Rhianna bounced him gently. "You want me to be the . . . queen?"

"Of course!" She laughed. "You sound so surprised, but really, I can think of no one else in all the world better suited. I still remember the very first time you and I met. When you were presented to me in the great hall just a short walk from where we are sitting right now. You were lovely, so pretty, with gorgeous manners, and you spoke such perfect Orlesian. It will be the best possible solution for everyone."

"But I . . . I don't want to be queen. I don't want to marry anyone. I don't want any of this. Please, just let my son and I go somewhere else, somewhere far away, to live the rest of our lives quietly, and in peace."

"Oh, no, no, no," Celene laughed. "We can't have that. This is much better, I promise. You - and your son - will be safe. No one would dare hurt you once it is known you are in my care. And you will help your countrymen adjust to what has happened. When they see that you - one of their own beloved noblewomen - sits as their queen, it will bring comfort to them in a way nothing else could. Your marriage to my cousin will be a sign that all will soon be well between our two countries." She paused. "I understand your fears; you were raised on stories of my Uncle Florian's barbaric occupation. But I am not my uncle. And Gauvain is not Meghren. Things will be different this time." She raised a brow. "You love your country, do you not?"

"Of course I do."

"Then this is the way you can serve Ferelden. This gesture of goodwill. You will be the queen, and your children will rule after you. You can help usher in a new era of peace and prosperity for Ferelden and Orlais, alike." Celene allowed her gaze to drop to the baby in Rhianna's arms. "And," she purred, "if you do as I ask, your child will live." One corner of Celene's mouth twisted up into a wicked smile.

Both women understood the threat implied: if Rhianna didn't cooperate, Gareth would die.

"Very well." If it would save Gareth's life, Rhianna would do it. "I will marry this cousin of yours." She forced herself to stand straight, and proud. This was a surrender, yes, but she would not grovel in defeat. After all, she was going to be the queen of Ferelden.

"What a very good decision you have made." Celene looked down at Rhianna, almost lovingly. "I knew I made the right choice in sparing your life."

‹›‹O›‹›


	7. Nothing else mattered

‹›‹O›‹›

Three days later, Rhianna and Gauvain knelt before Grand Cleric Perpetua in the Denerim Cathedral, while she spoke the words that would bind them in wedlock. It seemed such a short time ago - and yet, another lifetime - when Rhianna had knelt in this very spot beside Loghain.

That had been the happiest day of her life, and would no doubt remain so. She had no illusions that the life that now stretched before her would bring any true joy, other than watching Gareth grow, first into a boy and later into a man.

Rhianna had wondered at the speed with which this new wedding took place - usually, the Chantry required an announcement to be read two weeks in advance - but Celene had smilingly assured Rhianna that the grand cleric - the  _new_  grand cleric; Elemena was dead - had no qualms about proceeding with the ceremony, in spite of the short notice.

"The only reason to wait," Celene had said, "is to ensure that there is no legal reason that would keep the two of you from marrying. But Gauvain has never been married, and it is common knowledge that you were widowed when your darling husband died at Ostagar. So, there can hardly be any reason to wait."

Not that Rhianna cared one way or another how quickly the ceremony would take place. She felt numb and hollow after all that had happened. She couldn't close her eyes without seeing the bloodstained ground in the middle of that courtyard, or hearing the sound Fergus' head had made when it rolled across the cobblestones. She couldn't sleep through the night without a nightmare waking her, and causing her to scream into the darkness. She was only clean because servants had come every day to bathe and dress her, and comb her hair. She only ate when they brought food to her, and led her by the arm to sit at the table. When they painted her face this morning, Rhianna didn't have the energy to complain. The only thing she managed on her own was to care for Gareth – to feed him, and change his clothes. He only left her arms when it was absolutely necessary.

No, Rhianna barely remembered anything of the past few days and today, she would do as she was told, speak the words she was meant to speak, and try not to collapse from the panic at having been forced to leave Gareth with a nursemaid.

Now, the grand cleric stood before Rhianna and this man she was marrying, one hand raised over their heads to give them a blessing. At least the vows were being spoken in Fereldan, rather than the Orlesian that seemed to have taken over every corner of the palace, where Rhianna would now reside.

"Gauvain and Rhianna, here you kneel before me, in the sight of the Maker. From this day forward, your lives are intertwined. No longer shall you walk your paths alone, but you shall walk side by side, hand in hand."

" _My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours.  
For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one_."

She gestured for them to stand. "When you knelt before me, you were two separate people. Rise now, and greet the world as you shall live the rest of your lives, no longer separate, but joined as one."

Gauvain helped Rhianna to her feet, and afterward, she didn't have the energy to pull her hand away.

"Forasmuch as Gauvain and Rhianna have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before the Maker and this company, and have pledged their troth to one another, I pronounce they are man and wife, in the name of the Maker."

And with that, it was done. She was the queen to an Orlesian pretender to the throne. With just a few words, Rhianna had betrayed Loghain, and her family, and her country. Betrayed everything she had ever believed and everyone she had ever loved. All in the space of these very few minutes.

When they turned to face the congregation, Rhianna was vaguely surprised to find the cathedral packed full of people. So many people, and yet not a single face was familiar to her, other than Celene herself. They were citizens of Denerim, mostly, all of whom had been encouraged to witness the marriage of one of Ferelden's noblewomen to this Prince of Orlais. But for all that there were people packed into the pews, and standing in the aisles, when the couple turned, they were greeted not with cheers, but with a silence broken only by scattered applause from Empress Celene, and those Orlesian nobles who stood nearby. This was a political spectacle, through and through.

Hand in hand, Gauvain led Rhianna down the aisle, through the hushed and somber crowd, so different from when Rhianna and Loghain had been wed. She was barely aware of her surroundings, though, so consumed was she by grief and guilt. She just wanted this to be finished, so she could be reunited with Gareth. Her arms felt empty, and her breasts ached; it was well past time for him to be fed.

As the wedding procession made its way back to the palace by way of the market square, there was a commotion as a man pushed through the crowd, and leapt in front of her.

"Orlesian  _whore!"_ He spat on the ground at her feet, and looked as though he might strike out at her. Gauvain stepped close, and put a protective arm around her shoulder. Rhianna was too dazed and shocked to do more than stare after the man as guards dragged him away. Probably, he'd be beaten. Maybe killed.

Already, an innocent man would suffer for the choice she had made.

So be it. She felt too dead inside to truly care.

Her son would be safe. Nothing else mattered.

‹›‹O›‹›

The rest of the day was spent first at the coronation of the new King and Queen of Ferelden, and then at a seemingly endless banquet in the great hall. Unlike that in the cathedral earlier in the day, here the atmosphere among the new nobility - Orlesian to the last man - was festive. There was entertainment, toasts were made, and stories told, and through it all her new husband sat beside her. He was attentive of her comfort, but kept enough distance that Rhianna didn't feel threatened. Later there was dancing, in which Rhianna refused to participate. She was unwilling to put Gareth back in the hands of the nursemaid again, even for a few minutes.

Finally, long after the sun had set, the party was over and Rhianna prepared to retreat to the rooms that had been given to her, the same suite that had once belonged to Anora.

But as she looked around for a servant, to ask that hot water be brought up for a bath, a messenger appeared: the empress wished to see her. Rhianna followed the woman through the palace, to one of the small audience rooms downstairs. Inside, Celene was alone, except for two of her guards and a woman who appeared to be a servant.

"Congratulations my dear, on your marriage." Celene's face glowed. "I have no doubt the two of you will be very happy. You shall soon learn that Gauvain is a lovely man. You have only to give him the chance to prove that to you." She stretched out her arms. "May I see your son?"

Rhianna's breath caught in her chest. She pulled Gareth closer, and turned slightly away. "Please, Your Radiance," she murmured. "Please. You promised no harm would come to him."

"A promise I will keep, and gladly," Celene said. "I have no intention of harming your beautiful son. I swear it."

She seemed sincere, so with hesitant steps, Rhianna crossed the room, and set Gareth carefully in Celene's arms. The empress cradled him gently, and a wide smile erupted across her lips - the first truly genuine smile Rhianna had seen on the woman's face. She gazed into Gareth's eyes, and cooed at him, and bounced him gently. Gareth's face broke into a smile, and happy laughter bubbled from between his lips.

"Madame Presd'eaux," she continued, her eyes rapt on the child in her arms, "you should be so proud. He is such a beautiful child. Such soft skin, and he has your lovely smile." She leaned down and placed a kiss on Gareth's forehead. "Such a beautiful child." She raised a hand and snapped her fingers, and the servant rushed forward. "Take him," Celene said, "and be gentle. He is to receive the best of care."

Rhianna felt as though her heart had stopped beating in her chest.

"What?" Her body began to tremble. "Oh, please, Your Radiance?" Rhianna took tiny, shallow breaths, for fear she might faint. "Please, may I have him back? Please."

"No, my dear." Celene sounded regretful, but a small smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I am genuinely sorry, but no."

"But you promised. You promised he would safe." Her breath came even more quickly, and single tear began to creep down her cheek. "Please."

"And I will keep that promise. Your son will be safe. He will be safer than any other child in all of Thedas. I am going to take him back with me to Val Royeaux, and raise him as my own. He will live in the palace, and have the best of everything that money can buy. The finest food and clothing, the best education." She paused. "You have no reason to fear for him, as long as you continue to do what I require of you."

"But I did what you asked! I've done exactly what you wanted. Please," she sobbed, "please don't do this. Please. Just let me have him. Please."

"I do appreciate how cooperative you have been to this point, Rhianna. It is merely to ensure your continued cooperation that I must do this. Surely, you can see how important it is for you to have the time, and the freedom, to fulfill your new duties as queen."

"No, please. I'll do anything you ask, just please let me have my son. Please, I'm begging you, please."

"You have nothing to worry about, my dear. No one will harm a single hair on his head. Our ship sails tomorrow at dawn, and I promise you, I will not let him out of my sight until we are safely back in Val Royeaux." With that, Celene pushed herself up out of her chair. She took Gareth from the nursemaid's arms and, with the guards close behind, strode quietly from the room.

Rhianna stood still and silent, as tears streamed down her face. Her whole body ached, and she felt as though her heart had been ripped from her chest. Nothing had ever hurt like this before. Nothing. Nothing could have ever prepared her for this agony.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to run after Celene, tear Gareth from that hateful woman's arms. She wanted to grab a sword, and run it through the empress' belly, and watch her bleed to death on the floor. She wanted to take Gareth, and run and run and run and run, not stopping until they were safe. Until she and her son were somewhere they could hide, somewhere they could live together, away from the rest of the world. Away from this miserable world that held nothing of joy or beauty in it anymore.

But Rhianna did none of those things. She didn't scream, or run after Celene. What good would that have done? Rhianna had nothing, not even a sword. Celene had an army. Even if Rhianna could have gotten Gareth away, Celene would have just taken him back again, and perhaps the punishment for such an outburst would have meant Gareth's death.

Better for him to be alive, even if Rhianna couldn't be with him, than for him to be dead, and gone from her forever.

Rhianna fell to her knees, and curled up in a heap on the floor. There, she sobbed silently until all her tears were spent.

‹›‹O›‹›


	8. She was willing to try

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna sat in a chair near the window. Only a single candle lit her bedchamber, and she shivered; she'd not bothered to stoke up the fire, nor called in one of the servants to do it. In truth, she was barely aware of the cold as she sat and stared out into the darkness and forced herself to take one breath after the next.

For a while, everything had hurt. But now, she felt nothing at all.

Someone knocked on the door to her bedchamber.

"Enter." She spoke the word softly, not really caring if the person on the other side heard her or not. No doubt, whoever it was would come in regardless of her wishes; she was at everyone else's mercy now.

The door opened, and Rhianna turned out of habit rather than genuine curiosity.

It was the empress' cousin.

Rhianna's husband.

Oh. Of course. He had come for his wedding night.

"Lady Cousland?" He remained in the doorway. "Rhianna."

"Lord Presd'eaux."

"Please." His voice was soothing and gentle, regretful almost, and he spoke to her in Fereldan. "My given name is Gauvain. It would please me greatly for you to call me by my name."

She glanced at him, and then looked out the window again. "I am sorry, ser, but I am not prepared to do that."

"I . . . understand."

"No," she murmured. "I don't believe you do." She took a ragged breath. "She took my son." Again, heat rose behind Rhianna's eyes, although she was sure there were no tears left inside of her to cry. "She took my son. Gareth is all I have left, and she  _took_  him. I did everything she asked, and still she took him."

Rhianna closed her eyes, and forced herself not to sob. This man did not deserve to see her cry.

When she had calmed herself, she opened her eyes, and glanced at her husband again. He stood just inside the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him as though he didn't know what else to do with them.

He looked nervous, which was ridiculous. What had he to be nervous about? Rhianna belonged to him now, just like his horse, or a favorite pair of boots.

"Close the door," she said, with a nod of her head.

He did as she asked, and then turned back to her, a question in his eyes. Rhianna sat up, and reached behind her neck, to fumble with the laces of her gown. There was little point in dragging this out; better to get it over with, at least for tonight.

"What . . . what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She pulled the strand that loosed the bow, and began to tug at the laces. "I'm getting ready for bed. Isn't that why you're here? To claim me as you own? No doubt your cousin will wish us to produce an heir as soon as possible." The bodice was loose enough now that she was able to ease it past one of her shoulders.

"Rhianna, stop." There was a note in his voice that startled her, and she stopped struggling with the gown. He didn't sound angry as much as . . . distressed. "That is not why I am here."

"Isn't it?"

"No." He paused. "Well, not the only reason. I thought . . ." He crossed the room, and sat on the chair that faced hers. "I had hoped you and I could talk for a while. I know this all happened very fast, and it is something you could never have expected. Something you most assuredly did not want. I apologize for that. To be honest, this was nothing I could have foreseen for myself, either, until a very short time ago. But perhaps we can make the best of it. Get to know one another."

"I thought that's what I was suggesting. What better way to get to know one another?"

She knew she was goading him, but she didn't care. Yes, he was being kind at the moment, but surely he would prove untrustworthy, just like the chevaliers who murdered Dane, and the empress who had stolen her child.

"We do not have to do . . . that. Not tonight. Not unless you want to."

"No?" She tugged her dress back into place. "Then leave me." She paused. "Please."

A gentle creased formed across his brow as he studied her face, and she found herself unable to look away. In truth, he had lovely eyes - dark, with a warmth that seemed to light them from inside. And he was really very handsome, with black hair, and dark skin, and beautifully shaped lips.

But she wanted less than nothing to do with him.

"As you wish." He stood, and without another word or so much as a glance backwards, left the room and closed the door softly behind him.

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna didn't see him at all the next day, nor the next, nor the several that came after. She kept entirely to her rooms; servants brought her meals, and took the dishes away again after she'd picked listlessly at whatever food she had been offered. She lay on her back in the bed, or paced the floor, or stared out her window at the garden below. She had nothing else to do. Thus far, nothing had been asked of her, nothing at all. She'd not been asked to make an appearance before her subjects, or hold court, or provide a salon for the few Orlesian noblewomen who had remained behind when Celene departed. And she had no desire to go anywhere, or find ways to occupy her time. So she stayed in her rooms, and slept as many hours as she possibly could.

She wished she could see the sea from her room. Gaze out upon the water. Imagine the boat that had carried Gareth away from her.

Would she ever see him again? His loss caused her physical pain. Not just the ache of missing him, and the panic that rose up in her chest every time she moved, and realized his comforting weight was not settled safely in her arms. But her breasts ached as well, all the time, too full from the milk her body did not yet know to stop making. Sometimes the pain was so sharp she woke in the night and reached out for him, intending to pull him to her breast, only to dissolve into tears when she remembered he was no longer there.

Surely, the empress meant to keep him only a little while, just until Rhianna had proven her loyalty. Or perhaps Rhianna could convince her husband to ask Celene for Gareth's return. The man had seemed genuinely distressed by what had happened, and if Celene trusted him enough to give him Ferelden, surely he could ask her to return Rhianna's child.

In the meantime, Rhianna sat in her rooms, alone, and stared out of her window in silent misery.

‹›‹O›‹›

About two weeks after Celene had returned to Orlais, a servant came with a written invitation.

_Rhianna, Would you care to dine with me this afternoon, in the rose garden? ~ Gauvain._

She turned the parchment over in her hands, and read it a second time. Then she asked the servant to relay to her husband that, yes, she would join him.

While she had little desire to leave her rooms, she knew she could not avoid her new husband forever. And she would never be able to convince him to help her get Gareth back if she didn't at least  _talk_  to him.

They dined together under the shade of an ancient willow, just the two of them, and it was a surprisingly pleasant lunch. They spoke of incidental, insignificant things. He made no reference to what happened between them on the night of their wedding, nor did he make any suggestions about what would happen that night, or any other. She did not bring up his cousin, or her son. Instead, he asked her questions about Denerim, and she told him the city's history and some of the local customs.

She returned to her rooms feeling . . . lighter, somehow. As though some small fraction of the weight of her grief had been eased, even if only for a short time.

Over the next few days, they fell into the habit of dining together. Gauvain was friendly, and interesting to talk to. It also seemed they shared more than a few similar interests. He loved animals, and until recently had raised ducks and rabbits back in Val Chevin, where he lived before coming to Ferelden. He was also a reasonably accomplished swordsman and archer. When he learned that Rhianna had trained with weapons, he suggested that perhaps one day they could spar together. It seemed a foolhardy suggestion; was it really wise to put a weapon in your unwilling queen's hand and face her on the practice field? But somehow, Rhianna found his manner endearing, and decided that, even were she given a chance to run him through with a sword, she would not take it.

Invariably, he spoke to her in Fereldan, even when he used Orlesian with the palace staff, all of whom had been brought over from Orlais. His command of her language was excellent, and his accent had a somewhat musical lilt that was not at all unpleasant to her ears.

They went on in this way for a number of weeks, taking their meals together, but not seeing one another during the rest of the day. Gauvain did not appear at her bedroom again, although occasionally, Rhianna would find some trinket he'd left for her. Once, it was a bouquet of freshly cut flowers from the garden, with a note that said, " _Perhaps these will brighten your day - G_." Another day she found a silver pendant in the shape of a hawk lying on her pillow. The bird had a gem clutched in it's talons: an emerald, almost exactly the same color as Rhianna's eyes. This time, there was no note, but Rhianna knew Gauvain must have left it. His name meant "hawk of the spring" in Orlesian.

Almost against her will, she found herself touched by these small gestures, as well as by his refusal to press her for more than she was willing to give. Perhaps he was right, and they should try and make the best of this. He had told her that this - moving to Ferelden, and taking the throne - wasn't what he had expected; no doubt this marriage was entirely Celene's doing. It was hardly fair to keep punishing him for what his cousin had done. They had been thrown together and that wasn't going to change, so what was the point in both of them being miserable?

Besides, he was charming and funny and friendly. And being so constantly alone was beginning to wear on Rhianna, and tear her down in new ways. Small noises startled her, and sometimes she caught herself talking out loud when she was alone in her rooms, just to hear the sound pass across her ears. She yearned for companionship, for someone to talk to. For the touch of someone else's hands on her skin, for someone else's warmth to surround her and drive away the chill that had settled deep in her bones. Someone to hold her when she woke, in tears, in the middle of the night.

Late one night, about two months after they had exchanged their vows, she brushed her hair, put on nothing but a dressing gown, and made her way to the room where he slept.

When he answered the door, his eyes grew wide with surprise, but as they settled on her face, they grew warm, and a smile played at the corner of his lips.

"Rhianna."

She chewed at her bottom lip. "May I come in?"

"Of course." He stepped back and ushered her in with a sweep of his arm.

"I thought . . . well, I . . ." Her voice trailed off.

How could she say what was in her mind? That she was lonely, and tired of hurting all the time? That she appreciated his kindness? That perhaps they could make the best of this marriage that had been forced on them? That she was willing to try?

None of those words came, but he seemed to understand, nonetheless.

"Thank you for coming." He held her gaze, unflinching.

"You're . . . welcome." Her cheeks grew warm as she looked into his eyes, so dark they were nearly black. Then her gaze dropped down to his lips. She had never seen such perfectly formed lips in all her life.

"You are so beautiful." He reached up, slowly, and cradled her cheek in the palm of his hand. "So very beautiful."

He leaned forward until his perfect lips were mere inches from her own, and then he stopped, as though waiting for her to meet him the rest of the way.

She shivered, and struggled against the desire to flee. To turn and run from this room. To return to her bedroom and bolt tight the door. She was terrified. Of being here, of how far she had come. Terrified of this life she was living, a life she could never have expected. Terrified that she was about to do something utterly unforgiveable. Agreeing to the marriage was one thing; it had been necessary to keep her son alive.

But this was different. This . . . this was by her choice. Something she did willingly. Something she . . . wanted.

What would Loghain think of her if he were here?

Of course, if Loghain were here, none of this would have happened. If he hadn't died at Ostagar, everything would be different. Chevaliers would never have been allowed to cross the border, not even to fight the darkspawn. He would have done everything in his power to end the Blight and still keep Ferelden safe from Orlais. Anora would be alive. Her mother and brother would be alive. Gareth would be in her arms right now, and he would have been safe; Loghain would have done anything to protect his wife and child.

But Loghain was dead. Everyone else was dead. Her baby was gone, and she barely knew herself anymore. She couldn't keep living like this. Everything hurt too much. Something had to change. Surely, no one would blame her for trying to find some tiny bit of joy in the life that had been forced upon her.

So, when Gauvain moved to kiss her, when he stopped just short of where she stood, and waited for her to meet him half-way . . .

She did.

She leaned forward, and pressed her lips against his. His beard scratched her chin, and he smelled of cinnamon and cloves, and the fear flared up inside her again, so fierce she nearly gasped out loud from it, but then his arms slipped around her waist, and his tongue slid along her bottom lip, and everything else left her mind as she pulled him close and kissed him.

He pushed the robe from her shoulders and carried her to the bed, and his lips were warm, and his hands were so soft as they moved effortlessly across her skin, and his muscles were firm beneath her fingers, and it felt so  _good._  She hadn't realized just how much she had missed being  _touched_.

Then he made love to her, and, sweating and clinging to him as though she would drown if she let go, she cried out his name.

It was the first time she'd ever spoken it aloud.

She spent the night wrapped up in his arms, warm and tired, and in the morning, she woke with a hollow feeling in her belly, a slight gnawing ache of fear, but then he awoke beside her, and smiled, and pulled her into his arms again.

Afterwards, she rested her head against his chest, and he wound his fingers in her hair, and she was satisfied with the choice she had made.

There was no sense in being miserable for the rest of her life, and Gauvain truly was a good man. Perhaps once the empress saw that Rhianna had embraced this new life, as best as she could, Gareth would be returned to her. Nothing in all the world, short of bringing back the dead, would make Rhianna happier.

‹›‹O›‹›


	9. Duty and nothing more

‹›‹O›‹›

That afternoon, Rhianna and Gauvain took their lunch together in one of the palace dining rooms, and she found herself smiling genuine smiles, for the first time in such a long time. It felt right, sitting with him like this, talking to him, watching him from across the table. She enjoyed the way he gestured with his hands when he spoke, and the warmth in his eyes. The way his lips curved up at the corners in a mischievous smile. There were self-conscious chuckles, and shy glances; they still barely knew one another, in spite of what they had shared the night before.

But now, they had all the time in the world to get to know one another.

"Pardonnez-moi, Votre Majeste." Gauvain's footman stood in the doorway.

"Oui?" Gauvain replied.

"Visitors are here to see you," the man continued in Orlesian.

"Visitors?"

Gauvain's tone made it clear that he was not expecting anyone. Before he could respond further, two young boys who looked to be about six and eight years of age ran into the room. They were handsome boys, with dark skin and curly brown hair, and they flung themselves at Gauvain.

"Papa! Papa!" they cried, as Gauvain wrapped them up in his arms.

Papa?

Were these boys his . . . sons?

Gauvain had children?

Now, a woman appeared in the doorway. She was a few years older than Rhianna, and beautiful, with round, red cheeks, and blue eyes. Her curly blonde hair was done up in a knot at the back of her head, with just a few tendrils left loose to frame the pale skin of her face.

Rhianna went still, had difficulty taking a breath.

Who was this woman, and these children? What were they doing here?

She glanced at Gauvain, and when he met her eyes, she knew. This was his family. The family he left behind in Orlais when he came here to take the throne. Celene had been adamant that Gauvain was not married, so the woman must be his mistress. And there was no question that the boys were his sons; they had his eyes, and his finely shaped features.

His sons. He had  _sons._ And he'd said nothing about them, not a single word, nor about this woman who hovered in the doorway.

Were they here to stay?

Of course they were. Gauvain adored his children, that was obvious after seeing them together for even a few seconds. Of course he would bring them here to live with him. And his mistress as well; it was common practice in Orlais to keep a woman on the side, especially when one's marriage had been born of political convenience rather than love.

Something fluttered inside Rhianna's chest, a sort of panic, like a bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage as it tried to break free. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back. She would not cry. She would not shed even a single tear for this man, or for this new betrayal. She wasn't hurt by the fact of this family - of course he would have a family - but by his failure to tell her about them. His failure to speak to her of them  _even once_ , and to warn her of their arrival. For making love to her, for making her believe he cared, knowing all the while that his lover and children would be back with him any day.

"Rhianna, I would like you to meet my sons, Henri and Guillaume." Gauvain's voice shook, slightly. Had he not expected them to arrive like this? "Boys, this is my lady wife, Rhianna Presd'eaux, the Queen of Ferelden."

"Bonjour Madame," the boys said in unison, and bowed deeply.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Majesty," the older of the two boys - Henri - added, in Fereldan.

Again, tears threatened. Such gorgeous children, with perfect manners. She was hit by pang of longing for her own son and also for Oren. Hopefully he, at least, was safe in Antiva, even if Rhianna would never see him again. Perhaps when he grew into a man, he would return to Ferelden, and wrest it back from Orlais, as Maric and Loghain and Rowan had done during the Rebellion. But for now, she could only think of him as the little boy she knew, with his ready smile and sparkling eyes.

These boys also had ready smiles, and eyes that sparkled, and something inside Rhianna crumbled at the sight of them.

"Hello, Henri. Guillaume. It is a pleasure to meet you as well." She gave each of them the prettiest smile she could muster.

Gauvain gestured to the woman in the doorway, encouraging her to step into the room. "Rhianna, I would like you to meet Claire."

The woman came to stand near Gauvain, but didn't reach out to touch him. She gave Rhianna a tentative smile, one that appeared uncertain of the welcome she would receive.

"Hello. Claire." Rhianna kept the smile plastered into place. This woman and her sons had done Rhianna no wrong, and should not have to suffer her displeasure. She would save that for Gauvain. "And well met. You and your sons are most welcome here in Ferelden."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Claire gave a slight curtsey, and now her smile reached all the way to her eyes.

Rhianna glanced at Gauvain, and he, too, smiled, and some of the tension left his shoulders. But when she met his gaze, and he saw what was in her eyes, his smile faded.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, and pushed herself to her feet. "I have things to which I must attend. And I've no doubt the four of you have catching up to do." Without looking back, she left the dining room and just began to walk. When her feet took her out of the palace, she turned and went up the hill toward Fort Drakon. No one dared to challenge her as she climbed the steps; she was, after all, the queen.

On the pavement of the roof, there were still scorch marks from the battle against the archdemon. Rhianna had not been here to see that, but she had seen the creature's enormous head paraded through the city afterward. Even now, its skull stood on display in the center of the Denerim market square.

The archdemon. He had caused all this. Caused the destruction that murdered her husband and her father and thousands of others across the land. Had left Ferelden so defenseless that she had no way of keeping Orlais from crossing the borders.

Rhianna walked to the northern edge of the roof and looked out at the sea.

This is where she and Loghain had sat on that first night they spent together. He'd brought a picnic, and they'd sat on a blanket and watched the sun set. A shooting star had streaked across the sky, and she'd wished for just one thing: to marry the man she loved. To marry Loghain Mac Tir.

She would never regret that. Never. Even though their time together was cut so tragically short. Even though her life had been torn apart afterward in every way possible. Even though their son had been taken from her, and it felt as though she had lost a part of her own body. She could never regret loving Loghain.

Finally, she allowed a single tear to slip down her cheek, and gazed out at the vista below.

It was beautiful here, so very beautiful. The sun shone bright overhead, and fat, puffy clouds drifted past, stark white against the turquoise sky. To the southeast sat the Smugglers Cove where she and Loghain had ridden all those years ago. That day, they'd been attacked by assassins. Assassins sent by Empress Celene.

Today, Rhianna had survived an assassination of another kind.

The wind played through her hair as she stood at the edge of the tower and looked down. It was such a long drop to the bottom. How easy it would be to take those a few steps, and, just like that, all her pain would be over.

No. She moved back from the edge, afraid of herself for even having such thoughts. She couldn't consider such a thing, not while Gareth lived. Not while there was some chance she would see him again, cradle him in her arms, hear the sound of his voice and feel his fingers grab hold of her.

Things had changed, though. What a fool she had been, thinking any happiness was possible for her here. With  _him_. He already had a woman he loved; he had no use for Rhianna except as a figurehead, and a broodmare to give birth to his heirs, because surely his bastard sons could not inherit the throne.

She would be polite to Claire and the children. They had done nothing wrong. And perhaps she would be polite to Gauvain, as well. She would do anything, if only he would help her get Gareth back. But whatever she thought might have passed between them the previous night was dead. Completely and utterly dead. She would lay with him again, no doubt.

But only out of duty, and nothing more.

‹›‹O›‹›

That evening, there was a knock at her door.

"Rhianna." He stood in the doorway, his shoulders slightly hunched, as though a weight hung from them. "May we talk?"

Rhianna shrugged, and stepped back so he could enter the room.

He closed the door behind him, and stepped close, grasping her shoulders between his hands. Rhianna flinched away and took a single step back, so she was just out of his reach. He did not try to come close again.

"Rhianna. I am so sorry. Truly sorry. I had no idea they would arrive like this." His breath hitched, and he shook his head. "I intended to tell you about them, I swear it. To ask your permission before inviting them here to live. This is your home, and I would never just assume that they would be welcome here. Celene arranged for this, without informing me first. I am so sorry it happened this way."

"Yes, it came as a surprise," she admitted. "But it hardly matters. It's not as though you and I meant anything to one another."

He flinched at those words, as though they hurt him, somehow. But why? It was a simple statement of fact. He already had a family he loved; why would Rhianna have meant anything to him at all?

"Rhianna . . . please, don't say that. I had hoped-"

"You hoped what? That last night was the beginning of something between us?" She couldn't quite keep the edge of anger from her voice. "Why should it have been? Neither one of us wanted this marriage; you were forced into it as much as I was. Before all this happened, we both had lives. Families we love. I should think you would be happy now. Your family is here with you. Your  _children_  are here. I should think you would be grateful for that."

Her voice shook, and she clenched her fists, angry with herself for this show of emotion. It's not as though she cared, after all. Last night, and this morning, she had thought that someday she might come to care, but it hadn't happened yet.

It hadn't.

And now it never would.

"Rhianna . . ."

She turned, and strode over to the window. The view below was burned into her memory now, as no other place had ever been before. It comforted her to look down into the garden, but she hated it, as well. The reminder that this was all that was left to her. This view, from the prison that was now her home.

"Please," she murmured, as a tear crept down her cheek. "Just go."

‹›‹O›‹›


	10. All of my love forever

‹›‹O›‹›

The child was a girl.

A gorgeous little girl, with her father's dark hair, and skin the color of walnut shells, and piercing green eyes. From the first, she was a docile and happy baby, quick to laugh and smile.

Gauvain was ridiculously in love with her, that much was obvious, and Rhianna had to struggle against her desire to keep her beautiful daughter all to herself. She feared that if she passed little Eleanor into someone else's arms for even a minute, the girl would be whisked away and Rhianna would never see her again.

This was foolish, though. Gauvain had made it clear that such a thing would not happen; he would kill to protect the baby, just as he would either of his sons.

Since Claire and the boys arrived, Gauvain had continued to be gentle with Rhianna, and respectful, even though Rhianna avoided him as much as possible. That had been easy enough to accomplish; the Denerim palace was huge, and Rhianna had her own suite of rooms, while Gauvain spent most of his time with his family in another wing of the palace. Since Eleanor was conceived, Rhianna had not even had to endure Gauvain's weekly visits; sometimes days went by when she didn't see him at all, or hear his voice.

Rhianna spent a great deal of time on her own. At first entirely alone, and now that the baby had come, with her daughter. They stayed in her rooms, or occasionally walked out in the gardens, but never strayed far from the palace. She couldn't bear to visit the duck pond, where she'd sat on the day she realized she was in love with Loghain, and where they'd kissed not long before they were wed. So many happy times spent there - and a few unhappy ones - but all those memories were best kept locked away, where they didn't hurt quite so much.

"Pardonnez-moi, Madame Pres'deaux."

Rhianna turned to the servant who stood in the doorway to her bedchamber. "Oui?"

"Your husband has asked that you come downstairs at once," she said in Orlesian. "There is a visitor here you must greet. I've been asked to help you dress in something appropriate."

A visitor? She wasn't aware that anyone was expected. Then again, it was possible Gauvain had told her - or tried to tell her - and she'd ignored him, as she did with most everything he said.

When she was dressed in the finery appropriate to her station, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were pasty and gaunt, even after the maid powdered them with rouge. The gown was gorgeous, but looked somewhat awkward. Rhianna had lost so much weight over the past year that the fabric hung lifelessly from her shoulders.

She shrugged and turned away from the looking glass; it's not as though her appearance mattered to anyone.

Rhianna went downstairs, Eleanor held firmly in her arms.

When she walked into the audience room, her heart nearly stopped.

Empress Celene sat in the throne atop the low platform.

At her side was a child. A small boy with dark hair that brushed his shoulders, and blue eyes exactly like his father's.

"Ah, Rhianna." Celene had her arm around the boy's shoulders, and she pulled him almost imperceptibly closer. "What a pleasure it is to see you. You are looking very well."

"Thank you, Your Radiance." She stared at Gareth, completely mesmerized to see him. He was so big - no longer a baby, but standing on his own feet, and dressed like a proper little man, in breeches and a doublet, and shining black boots.

Belatedly, she realized she should say something more. "Welcome to Denerim. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"What a silly question! I am here to meet your lovely daughter, of course."

A trickle of ice cold fear slid down Rhianna's spine.

"Oh. Yes," she managed. "Of course."

Celene reached out her arms, and gestured that Rhianna should come closer. "Come. Let me hold her."

Rhianna didn't move. She couldn't bring herself to take even a single step closer, and her breath began to come faster.

No.

No. She couldn't possibly put her daughter into that woman's arms. She would not have another child taken from her. Not again.

Gauvain appeared at her side, and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "It is all right,  _cher,_ " he murmured in Fereldan, and then guided her - gently, but firmly - forward. "She will not take our daughter. I promise."

Trembling, Rhianna nodded, and then stepped forward and put Eleanor into Celene's arms.

The empress smiled broadly, and cooed at the child and rubbed noses with her. Eleanor giggled and reached her hand toward one of Celene's blond curls, and Celene laughed merrily.

"She is perfect! And absolutely gorgeous. Such a treasure!"

While Celene held Eleanor, Rhianna turned her attention to Gareth. She knelt, and reached out her arms.

"Gareth?"

But he didn't come to her. He merely stared, wide-eyed.

She felt as though she had been punched in the gut. "You don't remember me, do you?" Her vision blurred, and she struggled to calm her breath. "That's all right. I remember you." Again, she held out her hands. "Would you like to come and say hello?"

The boy trembled visibly, and pressed his face against Celene's skirt.

Blessed Andraste. He was frightened of her. Her own son was frightened of her. She didn't even try to stop the tear that rolled down her cheek.

"Who is this lady, maman?" he asked in Orlesian.

"This is the queen of Ferelden," Celene murmured. "It is alright. She is a very nice lady, and would never hurt you,  _mon petit chou._  You have nothing to be afraid of, I promise."

"Does he . . . doesn't he speak Fereldan?"

"No," Celene replied. "Not yet. When he is a bit older, he will have a tutor of course."

Rhianna forced back a sob. Her son -  _Loghain's_  son - and the boy spoke only Orlesian? Rhianna's lower lip trembled, and she forced herself to her feet.

"Please." She reached for Eleanor. "May I have my daughter? Please." She hated how small her voice sounded, how scared, but she was only just able to keep herself under control.

One corner of Celene's mouth turned up in a cruel smile. "Of course,  _petite souris_."

Rhianna forced herself to take the infant slowly, and not snatch her back from the empress.

Again, Gauvain appeared at her side. "Come,  _cher_. I think Eleanor has had enough excitement for today. Perhaps you should take her back to our quarters where she can rest."

No.

She stood still, and resisted his tug on her shoulder. How could she walk away from Gareth? Her beloved son?

She turned to him again. "Gareth?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Again, he leaned close to Celene and clutched at her hand with his own.

Something inside of Rhianna shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

He wasn't Rhianna's son anymore, was he? He'd called Celene 'mother.' And there was nothing now but fear in his eyes when he looked upon the woman who had given birth to him.

Celene would never give him back. It didn't matter what Rhianna did, how obedient she was. How many heirs she gave Gauvain, how nicely she behaved or how sweetly she spoke. Her own son didn't know who she was. He didn't even speak Fereldan. He was lost to her now, as thoroughly as Loghain was, and her parents.

He had called Celene 'maman.'

Rhianna turned to Gauvain. "Yes, I think that would be best." What point was there in staying, and tormenting herself further?

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Your Radiance." She put a hand on Gauvain's arm to steady herself. Then she turned her eyes on the child at Celene's side. "And it was a pleasure to see you again, as well. Gareth."

Upstairs, she sent the servants away and put the baby in her cot. She had expected there to be tears, but found they'd all been spent, long ago. There was nothing but emptiness now.

Rhianna sat at her desk, and pulled out a parchment and quill.

_My Darling Eleanor,_

_I want you to know how much I love you, my sweet, beautiful girl. I know you won't believe it once I'm gone, but it's true. I'm sorry I can't stay, but there are just too many things in this world that hurt me. You'll be better off without me, I promise. Better off with your father, who is a kind and good man, and with Claire, who will care for you as if you were her own, and with brothers who love you. I am too broken, and have nothing to give you, nothing but sorrow, so I've decided it's time for me to go._

_Even so, please believe that I love you. I love you so much, as much as I have ever loved anyone. Never doubt it. I wish you only happiness and good things._

_All of my love, forever,_

_~ Your Mother_

She folded the parchment, and tucked it into the cot beside the sleeping infant. Leaning close, Rhianna kissed her daughter's forehead.

"I love you." A single tear splashed on the girl's cheek, but she didn't stir from her slumber. "I love you so much. And I'm so sorry. But it will be easier this way for you. If you don't remember me at all, there won't be any memories to cause you pain. If I stay . . . I don't think I'll ever find a way to be happy, and that isn't fair to you."

Rhianna avoided the servants, and left the palace. In a matter of minutes, she'd climbed to the top of Fort Drakon.

The sun had begun to dip low in the sky, a wash of yellow that stained the western horizon. Golden sunlight sparkled brightly on the water as boats crisscrossed the harbor, and gulls and kittiwakes circled and cried overhead.

Something welled up inside of her, something that pressed against her ribcage as though it was desperate to break free. Again, she expected tears to come, but they didn't. The thing inside of her now wasn't sorrow.

It was hope.

Hope that she would see Loghain again.

Would he be there at the Maker's side? Would he pull her into his arms, and kiss her? Would they really be together again, forever, like the Chantry sisters promised?

Rhianna climbed onto the crenellated wall, and stepped up to the edge.

_Please, Andraste. Forgive me. And please let him be waiting._

She closed her eyes, and took one last step.

‹›‹O›‹›


	11. Did you enjoy your gift?

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna shivered from the cool breeze that came in through an opened window. The room was completely dark, the chill in the air unchallenged by a fire in the hearth, or even the light of a single candle.

She could see nothing, but even so, something about this place was familiar . . . a particular scent of herbs, and tanned hides . . .

"Did you enjoy your gift, girl?"

Rhianna gasped at the sound of the old woman's voice from a far corner of the room. A small light burst into life, as Flemeth lit a candle, and then approached the chair where Rhianna sat.

That's why this place was so familiar; she was in Flemeth's hut in the Korcari Wilds. But how had she gotten here?

"I asked you a question, girl. It's impolite to gape at me like a fish out of water."

"Gift?"

With a sob, Rhianna remembered the contents of her dream. The defeat at Ostagar. Loghain and her father, dead. The executions in the courtyard, and the forced marriage to Gauvain. Her son being taken from her, and raised in the Orlesian court. Her tiny, beautiful daughter.

Then, too overcome with grief to face even one more day, she had climbed Fort Drakon . . .

"Gift? That was no gift. It was a nightmare."

"What's this? Don't be a fool. That was no nightmare," she retorted. "That was a glimpse into another reality. A reality in which you got the thing you most wanted. The one thing you most regret. The thing you would have gone back in time to change, given the chance. You sit and feel sorry for yourself, and wish that things had been different." The old woman chuckled. "But can you see now that sometimes we are far better off if we do  _not_  get what we wish for?"

Maker. Is that what this had been about?

"Yes," Rhianna murmured. "I see that now."

"And can you see that perhaps things do happen for a reason? Even if we cannot understand those reasons at the time. Even if we never understand those reasons."

"I do."

"Good. Because that was the life that could have been. The life you thought you wanted. The thing that was supposed to bring you the happiness you feel you've been denied. But is any of that what you truly want? A life drained dry of all love and hope?"

"No," Rhianna whispered, more to herself than to Flemeth. "That isn't what I want."

"Of course it isn't." When Flemeth spoke again, her voice was surprisingly gentle. "Remember this: that is  _not_  what lies before you now. I won't lie to you, or pretend your path will be easy, but I swear to you, it will not be  _that_  hard. Let that be my Satinalia gift to you, child."

‹›‹O›‹›


	12. Tidings of Satinalia joy

 

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna's eyes blinked open, and she sat up to the sound of voices and merry laughter echoing in the cavern. She glanced around to see Zevran and Daveth huddled together, chuckling about some private joke. Oghren and Alistair sat together near the fire, insulting one another over a game of Wicked Grace. Nearby, Leliana had stretched her feet out in front of her so Wynne and Sten could admire her new shoes. Morrigan sang softly to herself as she rolled up her bedroll.

Dane got up from where he had been resting beside Sten, and trotted over to nuzzle Rhianna's neck.

She let out a breath, and a smile crept across her face.

Flemeth was right: none of it had been real. It was just a dream, a horrible dream.

None of it had been real.

This – the scene that greeted her now - was real. Rhianna and her friends searching for a dwarven paragon far below the ground, working to gather allies to fight the darkspawn. Yes, there was a Blight, but no chevaliers had been allowed to cross the border, and Empress Celene was far away in Orlais, and so many people were still alive: Dane, and Anora, and Leonas, and perhaps even Fergus. Loghain's army hadn't been slaughtered at Ostagar, so there were still soldiers to battle the darkspawn.

And, of course, Loghain himself was still alive. He was angry with her, yes. Perhaps even hated her, but he was  _alive_ , and that meant there was still hope she could find a way to fix things. A way to talk to him, and work with him to end this Blight without needing foreign help. To convince him that, whatever it was he thought she had done, she was the still the same girl she'd always been. The same girl he'd once loved. Perhaps, they could even find a way to love one another again.

Yes, Loghain was alive, and that meant there was hope.

She ran a hand through her hair, and then wrapped her arms around Dane's neck and breathed in his blessedly familiar scent.

"Good morning, Rhianna!" Leliana smiled brightly. "Happy Satinalia!"

"There's breakfast over here, if you're hungry," Daveth added. "And Zevran managed a hot buttered rum that will warm you clean through."

Tears welled up in Rhianna's eyes, but now they weren't tears of sorrow. These were tears of gratitude as she looked around at the faces of her companions. Her friends. She wouldn't have known any of them, not a single one, had things been different. Chances are, half of them would be dead now, as well. Daveth and Alistair at Ostagar, Sten and Leliana in Lothering. Morrigan in the Wilds.

"Rhianna?" Alistair looked over at her, his head tilted to one side. "Is everything all right?"

She blinked, and shook her head to clear it. "Yes," she chuckled. "Everything is fine."

For the first time in months she actually believed that was true.

"Shall we sing another carol?" Leliana suggested. When the others agreed, Zevran pulled out his guitar, and Oghren kept time rather raucously by banging on the bottom of one of the cooking pots, and everyone joined in the song:

_A toast to all Fereldans, let nothing you dismay_  
 _Remember bless'd Andraste was born upon this day_  
 _To save us from Tevinter's power_  
 _Their magic gone astray_  
 _Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy_  
 _Oh tidings of Satinalia joy_

_All in the town of Denerim, the blessed babe was born_   
_Delivered in a fisher's hut, upon this blessed morn_   
_To which her mother Brona did nothing take in scorn_   
_Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy_   
_Oh tidings of Satinalia joy_

_Fear not then, said the Maker, let nothing you affright_   
_This day is born a prophet to break Tevinter's might_   
_And free all those who follow Her, and sing the Chant of Light_   
_Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy_   
_Oh tidings of Satinalia joy_

_When full the light of Satina upon us all doth shine_   
_Then with true love and fellowship Her mercy will reside_   
_So raise a glass to honor Her, the Maker's lovely bride_   
_Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy_   
_Oh tidings of Satinalia joy_

 

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›


End file.
